L E G E N D S O F T H E R E A L M • B O O K 2tlocke.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Merchant-of... · stables and unoccupied hovels. When the crimson mage of Emporis had been defeated

O

L E G E N D S O F T H E R E A L M • B O O K 2

(Unpublished manuscript—copyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

Locke_MerchantAlyss_JE_bb.indd 5 9/11/15 2:53 PM

Thomas Locke, Merchant of AlyssRevell Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2016. Used by permission.

© 2016 by T. Davis Bunn

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, pho-

tocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only

exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Locke, Thomas, 1952–

Merchant of alyss / Thomas Locke.

pages ; cm. — (Legends of the realm ; #2)

ISBN 978-0-8007-2386-6 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-0-8007-2448-1 (cloth)

1. Magic—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3552.U4718M46 2016

813 .54—dc23 2015027194

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 7 6 5 4 3 2 1




This book is dedicated to

Phyllis Tickle

Wise Counselor, Dear Friend










(Unpublished manuscript—copyright protected Baker Publishing Group)(Unpublished manuscript—copyright protected Baker Publishing Group)



11

1

Falmouth Port was gripped by a late winter storm. Upon

the battlements, the cold bit like nature’s acid. The

broad stone passage that rimmed the city wall was made

treacherous by fresh ice. The soldiers on duty endured long

hours and searched silent roads. The avenue leading from Fal-

mouth’s main gate to the northern highway was empty. The

wind seemed determined to drive the sleet straight through

the night watch. After every circuit, they slipped inside the

tower room for a mug of brew heated on their central fire.

Which meant only one soldier noticed the solitary man that

hour before dawn. At least, when the night was over and the

guard was forced to endure the earl’s harsh questions, he was

fairly certain the lone traveler had been a man.

The stranger halted by the blacksmith stables. His back was

to the distant vales and the lonely route leading to Emporis,

the city at the edge of the known world. His cloak shivered




M ERCH A NT OF A LYSS

12

and rippled, but otherwise the tempest did not touch him.

He seemed to study the gates and towers intensely, though

the lone soldier could not be certain, for the traveler’s face

remained hidden beneath a cowl.

The soldier’s unease mounted and twice he called for his

mates, but the wind clawed the words away. The guard was

young and courageous and known for his artistry with blade

and bow. But the longer he stood there, the more his belly

was gnawed by something he could not name. He gripped

his sword’s pommel and forced himself not to flee.

Finally the cloaked figure broke oQ his inspection and turned

down a side lane. The soldier felt his chest unlock. He watched

the empty road for a time, until his best mate clapped him

on the shoulder and told him to go warm himself by the fire.

But the young soldier knew he was obliged to take a dreaded

move.

Gingerly he descended the icy stairs and pounded upon

the door at the tower’s base. “OXcer of the watch!” He

heard nothing in response save the wind’s constant howl,

so he pushed open the door and entered the tower’s lower

chamber. “Begging your pardon, my lady.”

Captain Meda had been knighted by the earl following

the Battle of Emporis. She had a well-earned reputation as

a fierce brawler with a fiery temper. She was sprawled on the

cot, her weapons heaped upon the watch table. All but the

long knife in her hand. “What is it?”

“Thought I saw something, ma’am.”

“Either you saw or you didn’t. That’s your duty. Not to

think. Try again.”




THOM AS LOCK E

13

“A lone stranger. He stood at the point where the Emporis

road meets the smithy’s stables. Watched us for a good long

time.”

Meda swung her feet to the floor. “Is he there now?”

“No, my lady. He turned away.” He fidgeted, fearing a

good old lashing for what sounded feeble now, here in the

warmth and safety of the oXcer’s ready room.

But Meda seemed to find nothing amiss in his report. “No

one else noticed?”

“I was the lone guard by the west tower. The gate is sealed,

and the storm . . .” He shrugged. “Perhaps it was nothing,

Captain.”

“Your name. Corporal Alembord, is it not? Recently ar-

rived from . . .”

“Havering. Yes, ma’am. With the last ship.”

“Just in time for winter.” She oQered a tight smile, meant

to reassure. “Now tell me why you felt this deserved my at-

tention.”

“Something about the man made me clench up tight as

a fist. And . . .”

“Go on, Corporal. Speak your mind.”

“The cloak he wore wasn’t touched by the wind. He stood

facing straight into the storm, but the cowl that covered his

head . . .”

Alembord halted as the captain leapt from the bed. The

snarl on her face caused him to take an involuntary step

backwards, ramming into the door.

Meda demanded, “What was the cloak’s color?”

“Couldn’t say, Captain. Not in this storm. The torches





14

lining the road were all doused. All I could see was his sil-

houette.”

She reached for the scabbard and belted it to her waist.

“Where did he go?”

“Down the side lane.” This time, when the snarl reap-

peared, he knew he was right to have come. “Toward the

emissary’s home.”

“Twenty men, Corporal. Armed and in the forecourt.

Three minutes.” She flung open the door. “Who is the wiz-

ard on duty?”

“Wizard? Ma’am, we’re ordered to have nothing to do

with that lot down in the palace cellars—”

His words were cut oQ by a blast that dwarfed the storm

and shook the palace. Alembord and the captain were both

flung onto the flagstones.

Meda scrambled to her feet and leapt through the door.

“Alarm! Sound the alarm!”

Alembord forced his limbs to obey his addled brain. He

struggled into the palace forecourt and used his sword’s pom-

mel to pound the brass gong. Another blast ripped the dark-

ness, illuminating the troops who scrambled and slithered

across the icy stones. Alembord managed to hold to his feet,

though he quailed at the sight of sleet turned to flying rubies

by the illumination. He rang the alarm as lightning flashed

red as the dawn he feared would never come.

The road leading to the forest was empty, which was hardly

a surprise, for it meandered past frozen corrals and empty




THOM AS LOCK E

15

stables and unoccupied hovels. When the crimson mage of

Emporis had been defeated a year and a half earlier, the wild

border clans had returned to their valley fiefdoms, but only

after swearing fealty to Bayard, Earl of Oberon and Lord of

Falmouth Port. Some claimed Bayard was also the rightful

king of all the realm. But they did so softly, even here in the

heart of Oberon’s land, for throughout the rest of the human

realm such words carried a death sentence.

The traveler stopped a second time where the emissary’s

grove met the lane. This would hardly be cause for notice,

were it not for the hour and the storm. All the city’s dwellers

paused here from time to time. Many made it a destination

when courting or simply filling an idle hour. Legends were

recounted here, about green-skinned people that emerged

from the forest and secretly planted the trees. About battles

that ravaged the land with forces not seen for over a thou-

sand years. About the man who dwelled in the unseen house

within the supernatural glade. None denied the fact that

magic had been applied, even though the obscure sciences

were oXcially forbidden throughout the realm. But here, in

this place, the power of enchantment rose in silent defiance

to all such human laws.

Between the emissary’s grove and the western forest

stretched a vast expanse of stumps and knee-high new

growth. Over the previous decade, the woodland had been

cut back three hundred paces by the refugees. Clansmen who

had managed to escape the crimson rider’s wrath had cut

the forest to erect crude huts. The emissary’s grove had been

planted just seventeen months earlier, the same season when





16

the badland refugees returned to their vales and sought to

rebuild their lives. Yet the glade that began where the traveler

stood was already taller than the city gates, with trunks thick

as a warrior’s girth. Some who stopped here claimed they

could actually hear the trees grow. On this night, however,

the only sounds were the shrieking wind, a distant shutter

pounding against an empty window, and ice cracking on tree

limbs as they danced.

A narrow lane of white stones weaved through the emis-

sary’s grove. The stones were another marvel, as none had

ever seen the like before. Some claimed they were a gift from

the Ashanta, a telepathic race few had ever glimpsed. The

Ashanta were said to fashion their fabled cities from these

very same stones, which led to much conjecture over what

this meant, being laid as a path through a glade all knew

to be enchanted. The softly glowing lane curved twice as it

passed through the trees, so that the emissary’s home and

its surrounding gardens remained unseen.

The stranger stood there for a time, long enough for any-

one else to freeze solid. Yet he seemed as untouched by the

tempest as the emissary’s glade. The tall trees blocking the

stranger from the home moved less than the traveler’s cloak.

Were it possible, it might have seemed that the trees watched

him intently. Waiting to see what he might do next.

The traveler started forward.

Instantly the trees bowed inward, lacing their branches

together.

The traveler backed away. The trees now blocked the lane

with a shield of bare winter limbs, woven tight as a wicker wall.




THOM AS LOCK E

17

The traveler snarled a curse and opened his cloak. Attached

to his belt in the same manner that another might carry a

sword was a wand carved with a multitude of symbols and

topped by a glass orb the size of a thumbnail.

The wizard raised the wand above his head, aimed the tiny

orb at the glade, and droned a few words, enough to light

the orb and the woven limbs with a crimson fire.

The branches trembled as the force sought to wrench them

apart. But the trees revealed their own power as they resisted

the command and the blast and the shaking of the earth.

Instead, when the tremors and the fierce red lightning ended,

the remaining trees drew together more tightly still.

The wizard roared a spell with such fury his words emerged

in a writhing spew of fire. The verbal onslaught joined with

the orb, which burned now with a blinding ruby light. The

power crackled and hissed through the air before blasting

into the grove. The earth shook more violently still with the

second spell’s power.

The first line of trees was demolished. The sleet was tainted

by the bitter taste of magical ash. Not even the stumps re-

mained. The nearest empty hovels were also flattened by

the backlash.

But beyond this new destruction, the trees appeared

more tightly woven than before. Thirty paces deep the grove

stretched, every tree now a living guardian. Intent upon sac-

rificing life for duty.

Again the wizard raged his volcanic spell. Again the light-

ning blasted. Another line of trees was reduced to flames

that hissed and vanished.





18

The wizard started to unleash another detonation. Then

he realized that the glade was now on the move.

Trees to his left and right ripped their roots free of the

frozen earth. They moved with the sullen grace of Ancients.

The earth shivered from the impact of their gnarled limbs

striking the frozen ground. They encircled the spot where

the traveler stood, closing oQ his escape.

Then they started in. Now they were the ones on attack.

The wizard lifted his wand high over his head. He shouted

words not heard in a thousand years. The tempest plucked

at him, shredding the cloak and then the mage into a million

crimson flecks.

The wizard and his wand were gone. The sentinel trees

swatted at the swirling mist, but they might as well have

sought to halt the sleet.

The trees remained as they were for a time. But when

shouts arose from where the forest lane joined the highway,

they clumped and they marched and they rejoined the glade.

When the first grey glimmer of daylight forced its way

through the tempest, the human soldiers and palace courtiers

who gathered by the emissary’s white-stone lane could find

no sign of anything amiss. Even the ash was gone.




Documents

L E G E N D S O F T H E R E A L M • B O O K 2tlocke.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Merchant-of... · stables and unoccupied hovels. When the crimson mage of Emporis had been defeated